


newsflash

by fortyfive_rpm (2davidbeckham3)



Series: breaking news [1]
Category: The Rolling Stones
Genre: 1980s, Introspection, M/M, Rated for swearing, Stream of Consciousness, mentioned past relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25642750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2davidbeckham3/pseuds/fortyfive_rpm
Summary: It's tough to be anywhere with Mick.Especially when Mick. Won't. Take. A. Fucking. Hint.
Relationships: Mick Jagger/Keith Richards
Series: breaking news [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872328
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	newsflash

**Author's Note:**

> Set in 1980/1981. Before Start Me Up was released as a single. Fake Rolling Stone interview. Very much AU and very melodramatic, as always. I threw shade at a lot of things here, so, uh, sorry?
> 
> Thank you fyeahgila for bringing oblivous!Mick to my attention, this was super interesting to delve into!

Keith’s life is defined by two universal, incontestable, undeniable truths:

  1. Chuck Berry is rock ‘n roll 
  2. Mick Jagger is a fucking idiot.



Well, that’s not entirely correct. 

Sometimes, Keith lives by the paradigm that _Rock ‘n roll is Chuck Berry_ , but it’s really another way of saying the same thing - the wording doesn’t change the outcome.

However, Mick Jagger is, and always will continue to be, a fucking idiot. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. 

Maybe, he’s just bitter. (The rest of his bandmates would agree.) He can’t help it. It’s not his fault that Mick can live his life ignoring the giant, neon sign over Keith’s head that says _“I FANCY YOU”_ every time they’re in the same room. It’s ridiculous coming from an LSE alum, though, it seems like, in this case, graduating really makes a difference. (Or, maybe, Mick's really that self-absorbed.)

" _Keith._ Keith." Mick's talking to him. "Did you hear what he asked?"

(Stone, meet Glass House.)

Keith blinks, then crosses his legs by placing his right ankle over his left knee, hoping the movement and would-be casual pose distracts his audience from the blood rushing to his cheeks at being caught staring at Mick. "No," he confesses. "No, I didn't." (It's not his fault the speck of brown in Mick's left eye is particularly distracting.)

Out of the corner of his eye, Keith sees the reporter open his mouth to, presumably, repeat his question, but Mick beats him to it. "Can we take a break?" Mick never takes his gaze away from Keith's, eyes sparkling with mirth. 

The reporter doesn't take too kindly to being dismissed, if his annoyed huff is anything to go on. 

That grabs Keith's attention. He rolls his eyes. _Rolling Stone_ writers always let it go to their heads. He watches the reporter sulk back to the door where another member of his team is waiting for him. Keith's really not looking forward to this photoshoot. 

"Alright, Keith?" Mick drawls, low and slow, suspiciously close to a laugh. 

Keith doesn't take his eyes away from the reporter-photographer duo pointing in their general direction. It's the same type of shit that happened in SNL, they're obviously upset at the fact that he hasn't provided them with enough material. (Though Lorne Michaels should have shut the fuck up since he was at the same party the night before the show aired.) But, years-old grudges aside, it's tough to be here, on the same couch as Mick.

It's tough to be anywhere with Mick. 

Especially when Mick. Won't. Take. A. Fucking. Hint. 

Keith's doing the wrong interview, no doubt about it. He should be sending letters to Ask Abby or phoning into Dear Gertie on the AM dial or turning to whoever people go to when their love life isn't progressing the way they want it to be.

 _Dearest Dolores,  
I'm sitting next to my best friend with my arm draped over his shoulders. No, we're not watching a film-- but I even played with the ends of his hair when our interviewer was too busy with his notes to look up. Still, no reaction. How do I get my best friend to notice me?  
Yours,  
Woefully-infatuated Wilfred. _

Regardless, Keith should be used to this.

He turns to face Mick, schooling his features into a sultry look. “‘m fantastic, baby,” he purrs, punctuating the statement with a slow smirk. Maybe he’s laying it on too thick, but Mick’s obliviousness always throws Keith’s flirtations out of whack. Granted, it’s not like Keith’s had much practice flirting in the first place. Anita came into his life like a swift, relentless, untameable river and carried him away in her current. So much unlike Mick, who's like gossamer strands slipping between Keith's fingers, ever elusive. (Keith's no good at taking the initiative, he knows that for sure.) 

"Really?" Comes Mick's incredulous response, playfulness quickly draining from his tone. "You could've fooled me."

Keith's tired. Tried of playing a game he never signed up for. Tired of Mick getting so close to ending it, only to bottle it in the ninetieth minute. Tired of Mick missing the god damned point. "I ain't trying to fool you." 

Mick stares at him for a few seconds longer before something akin to comprehension dawns over his expression. "You're right, though." He nods, managing to continue the conversation Keith wasn't aware they were having in the first place. "This interview is a waste of time." He breaks Keith's gaze to glare at the _Rolling Stone_ writers blocking the doorway. "I have dinner plans with David I can't miss." 

"Bowie?" This time it's Keith's turn to express his disbelief in a one word question. 

Mick snorts, previous amusement making a swift return. "Who else?" 

_'The third-most famous Davy Jones?'_ Keith wants to say but he ends up asking "What if I told you I was jealous?" (It's pitiful, really.)

Mick laughs. 

Keith's done a lot of shitty things in his life, but nothing to deserve this prolonged torment. Well, it's all self-inflicted. It's his fault. He's the one doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. 

_Yes, Doctor. Well, I started thinking about Mick in a romantic sense after he started to wear these bedazzled outfits on stage. The diamonds had nothing to do with it, doc. They were just so ridiculous that I couldn't picture spending my life without him. And-- in the spirit of full disclosure, have you seen him dance?_

"Honestly, Keith," Mick's still chuckling, even though Keith didn't tell a joke. He rests his hand on Keith's knee, "If you wanted an invite, all you had to do was ask." 

It's patronizing. It's infuriating. It's Mick. 

(Keith needs a pen. He needs a pen to stick in his heart, spill it all over the stage.)

As if Keith's intentions aren't clear enough when he pesters Mick to go on tour. As if his affection isn't evident enough when they're hunched over a piano together for hours. As if his intent isn't obvious when Keith finds any excuse to touch him, to lean on him. 

It's pretty rich, seeing the shoe on the other foot. Keith's always been privy to the fall out. He witnessed Crissie's tears after the Stones got properly famous. Marianne's sobs burned a whole through his shirt, a consequence of the green, acidic jealousy Keith had yet to understand. They were nothing compared to Bianca scathing glares and even more cutting statements (Though, those might have mostly been for the fact that she couldn't stand him.) There were countless more, and they all came to him. One of the privileges to being Mick's longest lasting relationship. (It's truly like a marriage, there's no sex.) 

There's a brief pause while Keith collects his thoughts. "That ain't what I meant." The planned _'thanks, though'_ doesn't make it past the tightness of his throat, but the curt statement gets Mick to look over at him again, at least. 

Mick scoffs. "What did you mean, then?" He purses his lips, jovial humor quickly disappearing. 

Keith's saving grace comes in the form of Ronnie Wood sticking his head through the door, whistling loud enough to stop all ongoing conversations. "Keith, you comin'?" 

And the most surprising thing of all to come out of all of this is that he's still friends with Ronnie. For all intents and purposes, Keith should resent him, not for his playing ability, but for the fact that Mick flirts with him constantly, on stage and off. He also suspects that they've slept together, or _something_ , considering the way Ronnie clams up when pressed. As far as Keith knows, it's some guitarist-initiation bullshit, though he never got close enough to Taylor to ask. He really hopes Mick had better tastes than Brian, though, given his current company, he probably didn't. He still doesn't know how to feel about that. (All Keith knows is that _he's_ a guitarist and willing.)

"And, that's my cue." Keith's not a coward, but that's the thing about the chase, if it goes on for too long, one starts to fear what's at the finish line. Keith turns away from Mick to stand up, grimacing at how the patent leather squeaks as he moves. It's an unwelcome distraction from how Mick's hair brushes against his arm when he lifts it from Mick's shoulders.

_Richards, with his leonine grace, saunters away from Jagger, who's left glaring at the guitarists' retreating back, jaw clenched, as if he had just been told a remarkably inappropriate joke about the Queen._

"Keith," Mick calls out, making Keith stop in his tracks. He sounds upset. His assessment is confirmed when he turns to find Mick's previously cloudy expression closer to thunderous than it was before. "Talk to me."

A tense, awkward stare-off ensues between them, only to be broken a few heartbeats later at the sound of laughter coming from Ronnie's direction. Keith's eyes shut at their own accord as he tries to tamp down the emotions bubbling to the surface. He doesn't care what _Rolling Stone's_ writers do, he really doesn't. He lets his music speak for itself, no matter what the critics say. But he's sick of people pretending to be something they're not. They're laughing like they aren't going to go straight to their typewriters to write that The Rolling Stones are irrelevant in the age of metal, a washed-up, skeleton of a band. Worse than The Beatles, they'd say, at least they knew when to call it quits, ignoring how McCartney's releasing the horrible granny music Lennon ridiculed him about. Mick Taylor's departure rang the death knell. ( _'You make a dead man cum,'_ Mick sang in their planned single. They should've titled their album, _Dead Man Cumming_ , if only for the reviews.) 

Keith opens his eyes to focus back on Mick. At least, he's pretty sure that Ronnie would write him a decent eulogy. He walks back to stand in front of Mick. He places a hand on the backrest behind Mick to lean down. "Later, Mick," Keith says, silencing any potential protests by capturing Mick's lips in a kiss.

Let the fucking idiot try to spin that.

**Author's Note:**

> Not my usual style - I read & reread a lot of interestingly structured fics over the week and they stuck with me more than I thought because this came out!
> 
> \- You can see the brown in Mick's eye [in this picture.](https://66.media.tumblr.com/ccef33b10073769d6e7ca51608b37e92/tumblr_o1zxpjA10o1umowjoo6_250.jpg)  
> \- [Rolling Stone article](https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-lists/saturday-night-live-rocks-25-greatest-musical-performances-128644/the-rolling-stones-october-7th-1978-2-191510/) about the best musical SNL performances, with The Rolling Stones taking spot number 14. Included is a short clip of Mick licking Ronnie. The live performance is actually pretty awful, Mick's voice is shot. Here is the [rehearsal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u_VbZdVW4Tk) since the performance was taken off Youtube. Also, if you haven't heard the sketch where "Mick you ignorant slut" is from [here](https://faroutmagazine.co.uk/mick-jagger-keith-richards-rolling-stones-impression-snl-1993/) is is. Mick as Keith is on point.  
> \- Yes, I did make a reference to [It's Only Rock 'n Roll (But I Like It)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JGaBlygm0UY)
> 
> I started thinking about what this would look like from Mick's POV, and, well, we shall see.  
> 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
